Apple Chunking
by dieselwriter
Summary: It was a Weasley family tradition to go apple chunking during the difficult times in life. After Fred passes away, Ron decides to try to continue the tradition. Twins/Ron family love. Canon compliant. Oneshot.


**A/n**: Huh…Googling "apple chunking" gets five hits, and none of them are what I'm looking for. No one knows what apple chunking is. I MUST SHARE IT WITH THE WORLD! So get comfy and settle in, cause this is a nice long oneshot. ;)

**Summary**: It was a Weasley family tradition to go apple chunking during the difficult times in life. After Fred passes away, Ron decides to try to continue the tradition. Twins/Ron family love. Canon compliant. Oneshot.

**Disclaimer**: Apparently I'm legally obligated to say I don't own Harry Potter. But seriously, is it that hard to figure out?

**Dedication**: Dedicated to Ms A.

_This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.  
_-William Penn

* * *

**Apple Chunking  
****By dieselwriter**

The dried, sticky blood had dyed the cream-colored hair a deep scarlet. Ron's bright blue eyes filled with tears as he fell to his knees, his jaw dropping in horrific disbelief.

The corpse lay still and immobile, and Ron turned his attention instead to the murderer.

"Umm…sorry, Ron. It was a…accident?"

The bloodied weapon in his hand told Ron otherwise, but his throat had closed up and it took all he had not to openly bawl in front of his brother.

George placed a comforting hand on his younger brother's shaking shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Ronnie…we'll get you a new one!"

Ron shook his head morosely as his face became drenched with tears.

"I don't _want_ a n-new one!"

George looked up nervously at the killer.

"_Well_? Any ideas, puffskein murderer?"

Fred grimaced at the site of his younger brother crying over his dead pet before turning his attention to George.

"Maybe," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey Ronnie…you wanna come apple chunking with me and George, right?"

Ron looked terrified at this idea as he glanced at the bloody Beater's bat in Fred's hand. Fred noticed and smiled brightly before throwing the bat clear across the yard.

"It'll be fun!" George replied as if he hadn't noticed a thing.

"You've always wanted to play it before," Fred said enticingly, stepping in front of the dead puffskein to hide it from his younger brother's gaze.

"W-what about Puffy?" Ron asked, taking in one last look at his dead pet before Fred helped him up and steered him away.

"I'll take care of it," George said, scooping up the bludgeoned puffskein delicately. "I'll meet you at the pitch."

Fred kept his arm slung around Ron's shoulders as they ambled on towards the broom shed, making sure his younger brother didn't turn around to see Puffy's impromptu burial at sea—George had surreptitiously tossed the dead creature into the pond.

"Here, Ron, hang on tight to this—" Fred said, making sure his younger brother indeed had a good grip on the broomstick before searching further into the broom shed for equipment.

Ron kept a knuckle-white grip and stared in awe as the broom vibrated in his hand. It was the first time he had been allowed to hold a real broom, not just a toy model. He swiped at his eyes to get the tears out so as to better behold how quickly his luck had changed.

George caught up in time to help Fred drag out Bill's old broomstick from the depths of the shed. And after George located his own non-bloodied bat, the three headed to the Quidditch Pitch.

"So, you know how to apple chunk, Ronnie?"

Ron looked at Fred with curious eyes.

"You just swing at the apples, dontcha?"

"Ron," Fred gave an almighty sigh. "Apple chunking is the _art_ of chunking apples. You don't 'just swing' at them."

Ron's smile faltered as he turned his eyes to the bat in his hand.

"Don't listen to Freddie, Ron, you're right," George said, glaring at his twin as he said it.

"Oh…oh yeah," Fred said, catching on. "Whoever hits the most before mum calls us for dinner wins!"

Ron's smile returned in full force and he was practically fidgeting with excitement.

"_Freddie_?" Fred snarled in a quick aside to George.

George just shrugged his shoulders and smiled as all three Weasleys reached the field. He started picking crab apples from a nearby tree while Fred, after giving George a proper scowl, gave Ron his first flying lesson.

"Okay, Ron, first you put the broom on the ground, like this," Fred demonstrated, placing Bill's old broom on the ground next to him. "And then you shout '_Up_!'" -the broom jumped into Fred's waiting hand- "Now you try."

"Why do you put it on the ground…if it's already in your hand?" Ron asked curiously, even as he placed Fred's broom on the ground

"Cause you gotta make sure the broom trusts you before you fly it. Now try!"

"Up!"

The broom merely turned in the air before settling back on the ground.

"You've gotta _command_ it," Fred replied to Ron's perplexed look. "Let it know you're the boss!"

"UP!"

This time the borrowed broom jumped into Ron's hand. Ron beamed in delight.

"Perfect!" Fred shouted. "Now you know how to fly- just put it between your legs and take off!"

Fred demonstrated once again, choosing to hover close as Ron tried to do the same.

He smiled with pride as Ron managed to get off the ground immediately.

"You're a natural!"

Ron was grinning even more as he took a small practice lap around the field.

"It's not so hard!" he shouted in glee.

George came back over with an armful of crab apples as Fred prepared for the next lesson in apple chunking.

"Excellent, now are you ready to play?" Fred asked, catching an apple tossed by his twin.

Ron's eyes sparkled in excitement and he nodded so enthusiastically he nearly fell off his broom.

Fred flew to the ground to grab the Beater's bat he had abandoned before flying over to Ron and giving it to him.

"Now make sure you hang on tight to the broom in your left hand, Ronnie, and keep your other hand on the bat," Fred explained, making sure Ron was hanging tight to the broom before relinquishing possession of his brother's bat.

"I got it," Ron said, taking a few practice swings with the bat as Fred flew off.

"You ready?" Fred shouted as he about-faced, so he was now facing his brother a few yards off.

"Pitch it!" Ron yelled back, keeping his eyes on the apple in his brother's hand.

Fred underhanded it to Ron, who swung the bat with all his might.

Apple chunks exploded everywhere as bat met apple.

"Nice swing Ron!" George yelled from the ground, giving his younger sibling a thumb's up in approval.

Ron's face was covered in apple particles and juice but his smile shone right through.

They played well into the night, Fred and George taking turns on the broom. When Mrs. Weasley finally called her sons in for dinner, all were celebrating: Ron, for he had scored the most hits and achieved victory; Fred, for he had wheedled his way out of punishment; and George, for he had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with his brothers, and thought that perhaps he'd ask Ron to tag along in more of their games tomorrow.

* * *

His dark eyes had sunk into his skull while suffering 12 agonizing years in Azkaban, yet as he stared down his prey, the mad eyes of Sirius Black bulged with unbridled exhilaration.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go; the curtains raised as walls around him, imprisoning him, and the only way out was through the madman wielding a dagger.

The bloodthirsty predator stepped forward, disappointment shining in his dark eyes for realizing he had the wrong prey, but Ron couldn't move for the sheer panic racing through his system. Just as the blade plunged, he yelled.

It missed its mark; the knife plunged into the fabric of the curtain, and even as Seamus' voice reached his ears, Ron could still not help but feel he was going to die. It was only when Black turned and ran out the room that he could gather a thought coherent enough to put into words.

"Black! Sirius Black! With a knife!"

Harry's face was the only one he could discern through the darkness, and his friend looked morbidly curious.

"What?"

"Here! Just now! Slashed the curtains! Woke me up!" Ron shouted, his jumbled thoughts evident through his disjointed speech.

Ron's heart fell a little at the disbelief etched in Dean's next question.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming, Ron?"

It had been a nightmare, but far, far worse.

"Look at the curtains! I tell you, he was here!"

And even though Ron was still petrified, his heart picked back up as Harry immediately accepted Ron's explanation and tore out of the room after the murderer, quickly followed by Seamus, Dean, and a fluffy slippered Neville.

Ron's senses quickly returned to him as he raced after his friends, quite sure that after his brief encounter with the deranged psychopath he wouldn't wish any of his friends to face that monster.

But he had escaped; Black had gotten through Hogwarts defenses once again, and Ron felt even worse that his own brother Percy hadn't believed him before the portrait had confirmed his story.

Fred watched his younger brother that entire night, for there was nothing else to be done; no one was going to bed that night.

Ron was extremely jumpy, even when McGonagall came back through the portrait hole at dawn he jumped nearly a foot in the air. George had laughed at that and patted him slightly awkwardly on the shoulders (Ron hadn't relaxed all night and kept quite stiff and still) before ascending the staircase along with the rest of the Gryffindors, who were all set to either get ready for the day or else catch a few winks before breakfast.

Ron remained sitting on the couch, and Harry and Fred also stayed behind as they stood in front of the young Weasley protectively. The Head of House gave a rare, comforting smile to the three as she approached them.

"Mr. Weasley," she started, before realizing that that particular greeting could address two of her students. "Ronald," she amended, "I suggest you try to get some sleep."

Ron nodded stiffly and looked up to Harry for some kind of support. Fred felt a small twinge of jealousy that his baby brother would look to Harry before himself, but quickly quashed that feeling as he turned to McGonagall.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Professor," he gave his most winning smile, which only caused her eyes to narrow suspiciously.

"See to it that you do," she said curtly, before adopting a softer tone as she looked over his shoulder to address Ron once again. "If you need to talk, Ron, please don't hesitate to come to me."

Ron nodded stiffly once again and gave her a forced smile.

"Of course, Professor."

McGonagall didn't seem completely satisfied, but she left the common room all the same. Harry, who seemed a bit wired given the lack of sleep and the increased stress, gave a small squeak as a goodbye before helping Ron to his feet.

"Better do what she says, Ron" he said, his eyes darting from Fred to the staircase and back to Ron.

"Yeah, sure," Ron said shakily. It seemed that the task McGonagall had set was quite daunting to him.

Both boys started towards the steps, Harry somewhat contentedly and Ron quite apprehensively, but Fred intervened by putting a solid hand on Ron's shoulder.

"He'll be up in a little bit, Harry," Fred said, shaking his brother's shoulder a bit to try to relieve some pent-up tension.

Harry shot Ron a questioning gaze, and although Fred didn't see his brother's reaction, he knew he must have said something with his eyes because Harry shrugged and continued up the stairs alone.

"What d'ya want?" Ron asked, turning around even as Fred kept his arm on his shoulder.

"I wanna go apple chunking."

His brother's curious expression turned to one of confused delight.

"We haven't gone apple chunking in...a long time."

"Yeah, I know. Let's go."

Ron didn't seem to need any more introduction than that before he climbed up the stairs with a smile on his face.

They met in the common room 10 minutes later and, after stopping by the Great Hall to load up Ron's rucksack with apples, the two made their way to the Quidditch Pitch.

Ron beat Fred in the air on George's borrowed broom, and Fred retaliated by pitching the first apple so hard that, even though Ron missed hitting it, it smashed on impact as it hit him square on the nose.

"Dammit, Fred, that hurt!" Ron shouted furiously, grabbing the bigger apple chunks and muttering _Reparo_ so it reformed in his hand. He threw it right back at Fred, but he easily hit it out of the air, spraying Ron with apple bits once again.

"That the best you got?" Fred asked, swinging his bat challengingly and grinning widely.

Ron returned with an evil smile and an apple.

Fred nicked it, and the fruit fell harmlessly to the ground, mostly intact.

"So, Black had a knife, eh?" Fred asked as he pitched a new apple.

"Yeah, like a butchering knife," Ron answered distractedly as he smashed the apple with his bat. "Must've been 12 inches. Wonder how he got it."

"Maybe he stole it from the kitchens," Fred offered, readying his bat as Ron threw another apple toward him.

"And he just asked the house elves for one politely, yeah?" Ron asked without any real humor in his voice.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about them," Fred muttered, nearly missing the apple as his mind wandered to a new thought. "Did you take it from him?"

Ron, who had smiled ruefully at his first comment, blanched at his second.

"What? No, of course not!"

"Well, how'd you get out then? He's after Harry, isn't he? Why didn't he just…" Fred paused, before bringing out a new apple and smashing it in his hand to try to get his point across. Ron grimaced, and Fred continued, "Well, you know, why didn't he just finish the job? Harry was only a bed away, fast asleep."

Ron had to obliterate a few more apples before he was ready to answer his question.

"I dunno…maybe he doesn't want more innocent blood on his hands."

Fred snorted in disbelief, and Ron's skeptical tone told him he didn't even believe that explanation.

"Well, how should I know?" Ron shouted in exasperation. "I can't read the inner mind of a maniac like that!"

They remained quiet for the rest of the time, Fred only speaking again when both were safely on the ground.

"Why don't we go back and get some sleep."

Ron fidgeted with the Beater's bat, looking much younger now than the last time he had gone apple chunking with his brother.

"I…I can't. Every time I close my eyes…I see him."

Ron looked shamefully at the ground, unwilling to let his older brother see the fear in his eyes. Fred stepped by his brother, refusing to say anything until Ron finally found the courage to look at him.

"Ron," he said, adopting a tone so serious that Ron thought it was Percy speaking to him at first, "he's not going to get in again. We've got the Marauder's Map- the only way in other than the front door is through Honeyduke's, and we haven't heard of a break-in, have we? There's no way the Professors are going to let him in again. Dumbledore will see to it."

Ron's expression didn't change, so Fred surged on.

"_I_ will see to it. I'll keep watch until you fall asleep."

Ron seemed to realize what those words had caused his brother's pride, as his fear was momentarily replaced by exceeding amusement.

"Will you read me a bedtime story too?"

"Shut up you cheeky bastard."

"And sing me a lullaby?"

Fred was about to retort furiously, but something caught his eye and he stared off towards the castle.

"Well, looks like your late night excursion's gonna make you a bit popular," Fred said, pointing towards Hogwarts with a slight smile.

Ron followed Fred's finger, and his eyes grew large and wondrous as he took in the scene.

A large group of students were pointing in their direction and shouting furiously at an equally irate Flitwick, who was busy trying to force them back inside the castle.

As Ron marveled at the crowd, George came up beside his twin and gave him a sneaky wink as he took the Beater's bat from his hand.

"You know, Ron, I think we should head back for some sleep," George said, creeping up to his younger brother.

"I don't wanna sleep," Ron said stubbornly, the fear returning in full force. His apparent overlook of the change in which twin spoke caused a mischievous smile to cross George's face. "I already told you."

George snuck up behind Ron and to Fred's silent enjoyment he pretended to swing the club at the back of Ron's head.

"Mum shan't be pleased if you don't get any sleep, baby bro," he said mockingly, enjoying Fred's silent laughter as he continued to pretend to swing the bat full force at his brother's head.

"Wait a…Geor—?" But he was cut off as he turned around and stepped forward. His eyes went wide right before George swung Fred's borrowed bat forcefully at his forehead.

George dropped the bat in surprise as Ron fell bonelessly to the ground, out cold.

"Well shit, Ron, you weren't supposed to _move_."

Fred sidled up, feeling alarmed but humorous at the turn of events.

"Well, I guess I can tuck him in now without too much complaint."

The group up at the castle, who had seen what had taken place, was now shocked silent and Flitwick, his back to George's brutality, shouted in triumph as he closed the front doors.

"Think again, dear twin," George sighed as he helped Fred pick Ron up. "Flitwick's going to go barmy when we knock on the front doors with an unconscious sibling in tow."

"Better than when Ron wakes up. He's going to be pissed with you, you know."

George smiled victoriously as the three made slow progress back up to the castle.

"He won't be mad at me- he'll think you did it."

"What?" Fred barked in indignation. "Why would he think that? We just had a real nice conversation before you came to interrupt. He'll believe me when I snitch you out."

"He beat you again," George answered simply.

"You were keeping score?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Well, someone had to; you were too busy playing the role of sensitive big brother to notice."

"You're not counting the one he smashed with his face, are you? Cause the rules state you have to smash the apple with the bat—"

"It just has to get hit," George amended. "Those were your words. And even without that hit, he still won."

"Smug git."

George just smiled complacently as they climbed the stairs to face the wrath of Professor Flitwick.

And when Ron woke up with a sizable headache a few hours later, all were complacent: Ron, for he had actually gotten sleep and evaded Sirius Black-induced nightmares; George, for he had wheedled his way out of punishment for hitting Ron; and Fred, for he had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with his brother, and Ron, after remembering what had happened, had only shouted at him in justifiable anger for half an hour.

* * *

It was impossible to deal with. How could anyone handle this? What was he supposed to do, now that he had lost his shadow? His other half? How could he go from being part of a set to being all alone? And how the hell was he supposed to forget when he saw his face every time he glanced at his reflection?

The funeral was small, and he had made a vow before to not shed but one tear. He had had enough of every person watching him out of the corner of their eyes, as if expecting him to spontaneously combust. He wouldn't give them anything to worry about today.

He had only gotten through it by not listening; he had kept his eyes open to the tomb but had kept his ears closed as some old bat that George highly doubted had ever met Fred gave a eulogy.

The worst part was standing by his dead brother's tombstone in a Weasley family line (Ron remaining surprisingly somber on his right and Percy surprisingly sniveling on his left). He had to clasp hands or hug as friends and family filed past, giving their condolences.

The first dozen people were fine; extended family members they hadn't seen since Bill and Fleur's wedding and probably wouldn't see again until another one of their number died. It was hard keeping it together when Lee Jordan hugged him tightly with tears coursing down his cheeks. But when Angelina Johnson came practically sobbing into his arms he lost it completely and held onto her for a solid five minutes.

Harry had come shortly after that with an apology in his eyes and love in his embrace. That had actually helped him regain composure and he was able to hold himself together for the rest of the afternoon.

And now he was in his flat above his ransacked joke shop (the Death Eaters had had a grand time demolishing the place when they went on the run), picking through old memories and burning those too painful to remember.

"Having fun?"

He had thought he was alone in the lonely apartment, so to hear any voice, even if it was quite familiar, still caused him to start.

"Shit, Ron, you trying to kill me?"

Ron winced before he stepped forward into the room.

"This looks…real depressing," Ron said, grabbing a few of the photos George had just organized.

"I've got to do this sometime; might as well be now."

Ron read the deadness in the tone and dropped the pictures.

"Want to do something else?"

"Yes, but I can't," George said simply, placing abandoned invention attempts in a cardboard box. "I want to do this; I _need_ to do this."

"Fine, then let me help you," Ron said, getting down on the floor next to his brother.

"I don't need help."

Ron ignored the numbness in his voice and pressed on.

"I think you do," he said, trying to grab the box from him.

"No, Ron—"

"C'mon, George—"

The box ripped and the contents spilled over the floor once again.

"Well, gee, thanks for stopping by Ron, but I think you've helped enough!" George said mockingly, snatching Ron's part of the box from him.

Ron looked hurt and didn't say anything for a while. George thought he was bound to leave, and was therefore quite surprised by his next statement.

"I think Fred'd be pissed at us."

George dropped both parts of the box to glance at Ron.

"Why do you say that?"

Ron smiled evilly.

"Shan't tell you if you don't do something fun with me!"

It was such a Fred thing to say that George had to check to make sure it was Ron speaking.

"What do you want to do?"

"Apple chunking."

George gaped. While he liked joining in games of apple chunking as much as the next Weasley, it really was a tradition between Fred and Ron. Whenever Ron was feeling particularly down, the two of them would grab their bats, brooms, and apples and head down to the Quidditch Pitch.

He was therefore flattered to be included.

"I'm not him, you know."

Flattered, yes, but suspicious all the same.

"Who? Fred? Well no shit; I knew you could be hard to tell apart, but I'm quite sure you're Forge…I think."

George studied his brother's amused face for a short time before shrugging his shoulders and rising to his feet.

"Fine, why not?"

Ron beamed and before George knew it they were in the air, bats and apples in hand.

"Where are we?" George asked as he stared around at the slightly familiar meadow.

"World Cup," Ron answered as he threw the first apple at blinding speed towards his older brother.

George, not suspecting the airborne fruit, swung wildly and missed. It hit him square in the forehead.

"Dammit, Ron! I wasn't ready!" he wiped furiously at his face, trying to get the sticky juice off.

"That the best you got?" Ron taunted, swinging his bat in preparation.

George viciously grabbed an apple and chucked it at his younger brother, who promptly smashed the apple to pieces.

They traded off blows for hours as the sun slowly disappeared. It wasn't till the moon was visible did they run out of objects to transfigure into apples and descended back to the ground.

"So," George panted, "why will Fred be pissed at us?"

Ron, also breathing heavy from exertion, grinned.

"Did you hear that old bat today? Giving the eulogy? Not one plug for the shop, and no jokes!"

George blinked in surprise.

"You listened to him?"

"Well, the first few minutes," Ron returned sheepishly. "He nearly put me to sleep. Ginny was snoring beside me after a while."

George smiled in spite of himself.

"Well, how do we remedy the situation?"

Ron returned with an evil grin.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

The funeral had ended…hours ago, he'd deduced. The guests had left, the chairs had been taken away, and the moon had slowly risen in the sky as the sun disappeared. And yet he couldn't move.

It was probably the death that had hit him hardest, possibly more so than Sirius's. He had only known his godfather for a few years, where he'd known Fred since…the Hogwarts Express. Longer than Dumbledore, longer than Hermione…longer than Ron, even.

And how could it have been Fred? What had Fred ever done to deserve this? This cold gray tombstone, six feet of earth resting forever on top of him? Inconsolable friends, a lost, confused, and hurt family, an absolutely, completely devastated twin brother?

Harry blinked in confusion as he stared at the silhouette of said devastated twin brother shifting through the bushes a few yards away.

After hours of sitting, his legs tingled to replace the numbness as he crept forward, intrigued and surprised at hearing George's anxious voice. He had a moment's indecision, wondering if he were about to eavesdrop into a private conversation, but the excitement held in his voice spurred him on.

"You've got it set up?" George asked in whisper, oblivious to Harry's attempts at snooping.

"Yeah, we're good; light it up!" Ron's voice muttered.

Harry stopped, shocked, at also hearing his best friend's voice.

_What was going on_?

BOOM

Harry jumped backwards and stumbled over the uneven ground. Large fireworks exploded above him, lighting up the gravesite radiantly in shades of brightest red, yellow, and purple.

"Holy…" Harry gaped as an enormous red dragon erupted from one firework and roared magnificently.

He glanced over at the two trouble makers, who were smiling up at their creation.

"So," he heard Ron say between roars of the dragon. "You gonna need some help in that joke shop of yours?"

Harry didn't hear George's reply, but judging from the brilliant smile on his face, he was quite sure he knew the answer.

BOOM

He looked up quickly in time to watch another dragon be born amidst the fire. The two scarlet dragons met in an ear-shattering roar and, rather than entwine, seemed to combine to form one giant red blob.

Wait…it could've been an apple…or a tomato, maybe.

Before Harry could figure it out, though, it blew up in an even louder explosion as red sparks shot out across the sky.

He felt himself smile, the first he had that day.

Fred would've been proud.

* * *

**A/n: **Debatably my greatest beef with the third HP movie is that they didn't include Sirius' second Hogwarts break-in. That could've been so creepy-cool, and yet they left it out. So I decided to revisit it. :D

Oh, and I take artistic liberty in the following: Fred, Ron, and (later) George hadn't a problem getting out of Hogwarts to play Quidditch the morning after Sirius Black's break-in. They are the Weasley twins, after all, and I assume they, like Dumbledore, don't need an Invisibility Cloak to become invisible. ;)

Well, I'll return to _Tales_ next (hopefully by Tuesday...but don't hold me to that). More projects are in the works, though, so keep your eyes peeled!

Please let me know how you thought of this; this was my feeble attempt at trying to sort out the aftermath that was Fred's death. Also, my first attempt at twin banter since _Finale_. Let me know how you think I did, please!

(In short, review please!)

-dieselwriter


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